My Hero
by shield-maiden
Summary: Pietro writes a letter to his favorite superhero, The Flash, asking the hero to come visit him. Little does Flash know that Pietro intends to turn the visit into a competition.
1. The master plan

Disclaimer: Not only do I not own any aspect of X-men Evolution but I also don't own the Justice League, isn't that sad?

* * *

Mr. Flash:

It has come to my attention…

"No."

I'm aware that…

"Oh, forget it," Pietro exclaimed, " I'll do this the easy way!"

Dear Mr. Flash,

You are my favorite super hero because your power is way better than any of those other losers in the Justice League. Not that you're a loser…and I'm certainly not insulting your friends/comrades in arms. What I'm trying to say is that I was hoping you could visit me since…

"Here comes the tear jerker."

I don't know how much time I have left before I die. It would mean the world to me if you would do this for me.

"What a piece of crap," Lance exclaimed. "There's no way you are going to pull of being a Make-a-Wish kid. And you are definitely not dying."

"How do you know, Lance? I could die tomorrow if something unfortunate were to happen to me."

"Want me to be that something unfortunate?"

"No, but I would like you to tell me how I should end this. What's an interesting way of saying that I think he's the coolest person ever…besides me that is."

"Hm, how about 'You rock my socks'."

"I am not putting that in a letter to a virtual celebrity. It sounds dorky."

"Suit yourself. I'm going to see what Toad's up to." Pietro thought for a moment before finally writing:

You rock my socks,

Pietro Maximoff

"There, done." He quickly placed it in an envelope, placed a stamp in the corner and wrote the Flash's address in the center. He also stuck a return address label on it, just in case. "I hope he comes."

"Hope who comes," Freddy asked.

"Only the coolest person in the world!"

"Mrs. Field's?"

"No, the Flash!"

"Why do you want him to come here?"

"So I can prove once and for all that I am the fastest person on the face of this planet."

"Your funeral," Blob said simply.

"What do you mean it's my funeral," Pietro asked.

"I'm just saying that the Flash is a well known superhero and.."

"So, just because I don't have my name on a 'good guys most wanted' list that he is automatically faster than me?"

"No," Blob defended, " I just don't want you embarrassing yourself. You know how sensitive your ego is."

"Well, Blob, I'll have you know that my ego is quite secure with itself and I'm going to run the pants off the Flash."

"I hope you don't mean that in a literal sense," Lance told him.

Pietro gave Lance an odd look. "Why would I mean that in a literal sense?"

"No reason," Lance trailed off. "Anyways, you might as well tell him to bring Superman along while you're at it."

"Why?"

"Because then you have something to compare your speed to. He's faster than a speeding bullet so, therefore, the Flash must be even faster than that. If you can't beat the Flash maybe you can still say you're faster than a speeding bullet."

"I guess," Pietro replied, pulling the letter out of the envelope and adding the post script. "There, now I just gotta mail this sucker and wait for a reply."

"Provided the Flash reads and replies to his own mail," Freddy mused, " You should get it back in however long it takes the post office to deliver letters back and forth."

"Aww, man," Pietro whined, " That could take forever!"

"Fine, than e-mail him," Lance snapped. "We don't really care as long as it shuts you up."

Pietro considered this for a moment before shaking his head. "E-mail's so impersonal, you got to type everything out and in the end it doesn't matter how perfect your handwriting is because what they see is all standard issue. That may be fine for people with chicken scratch like Toad, but my penmanship is beautiful and I want the Flash to see how much better it is than his own." He sighed, " I guess I'll just have to snail mail it and bide my time."

A few weeks later…

"Hey, Pietro, " Todd waved a large envelope in the air, " You've got mail."

"Took him long enough." Pietro zipped over and snatched the parcel from his amphibian friend. He quickly ripped it open and pulled out the contents from within. "Dear Pietro," the speedster read, " Your letter was incredibly flattering and I appreciate your faith in my abilities. I am currently fighting alien invaders from the planet Thorax but will give you a ring as soon as I can. – The Flash." Pietro shuffled the letter to the back, revealing a giant photo of the Flash himself. "To my favorite junior speedster, Pietro. Your friend, The Flash."

"Junior Speedster," Pietro fumed. "Who does this guy think he is? And this picture it atrocious. He should kill whoever thought of putting him in a red costume with yellow accents. Not to mention he presumes to have a bigger ego than myself. Ha!" He zipped the photo up to his room and faced it toward the wall, pointed toward a giant mural of Pietro's face, which took up the entire wall.

"What do you think of that? Did it myself in a half hour. Bet you don't have one of these in your house with your face do ya? Ha!" He shuffled the papers once again, half expecting a group shot of the Justice League but was instead met with another piece of lined parchment. "Look outside, Little Buddy, -The Flash" was written on it in gold ink.

A second later the doorbell rang. "Oh my Jewish God no…"


	2. Is there some other Pietro?

Disclaimer: "But, John, when the Pirates of the Carribbean breaks down, the pirates don't eat the tourists." No, I don't even own Pirates of the Carribbean, I'm a poor, soon to be college student. sigh  
  
The doorbell chimed, rushing Pietro to the top of the staircase. "Lance, don't get that," he yelled; but it was too late as the rock tumbler cracked the door open a smidgen to see who it could be, coming face to face with a man dressed entirely in bright red and yellow.  
  
"Is Pietro home," the Flash asked.  
  
"Sure, PIETRO!"  
  
"Shhhh," the Flash hushed, "if he's sleeping I don't want to wake him up."  
  
"Wake him up? He's been running around the house since the crack of dawn. PIETRO!"  
  
"No need to yell, Lance," Pietro quipped, suddenly standing next to the boy.  
  
The Flash blinked. ' I must be loosing my touch, no one's gotten the jump on me in a long time'... "You're Pietro?"  
  
"Sure am."  
  
"You're awfully big for an 8-year-old."  
  
"Well, duh, that's 'cause I'm 17 thank you very much. I can go to an R- rated movie if I want, one of the perks of being old, you understand."  
  
"Um, I'm sorry," the Flash fumbled, "I must have gotten the wrong house. Is there another Pietro Maximoff living in Bayville?"  
  
"No, he's the only one," Fred said. "Man, can you imagine what it'd be like if there were two of him," he held his head between his two massive hands.  
  
"Hey, two of me would be twice as cute."  
  
"So, you're really Pietro Maximoff?" Flash looked him over from head to toe, "What terminal disease do you have? I mean, if it's not too rude of me to ask. Pardon me for saying so but you look pretty good for someone who's dying."  
  
"I'm dying of age," Pietro gasped dramatically, "If all goes well I'll make it to at least 80 but hey, if I get hit by a bus tomorrow that's the way the cookie crumbles," Pietro shrugged.  
  
"I thought you said you didn't know how much longer you had to live," Flash accused.  
  
"I did write that, yes, but think about it. Do you know how much longer you have to live? I thought not."  
  
"You lying...I could be visiting one of those make-a-wish kids right now!"  
  
"So they wait a bit longer, this is important."  
  
"Really," the Flash crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
"Listen," Pietro lectured, "You pride yourself on being the fastest man on the Earth and," he chuckled, "coincidentally that's what I'd like to call myself."  
  
"Look, kid, I highly doubt that you are anywhere near as fast as..." he blinked, looking at the now present card table complete with place setting for one.  
  
"You were saying..." Pietro prompted.  
  
"Okay, fine, what do you want? A foot race?"  
  
"More than that...you didn't happen to bring Superman with you did ya?"  
  
"No, urgent business in his hometown."  
  
"Crap, anyways, what I propose is a series of tests judged and created by these fine gentlemen you see before you and the lady of the house who is right now holed up in her room."  
  
"I really don't have time for this, there's a lot I have to get done at home," Flash debated.  
  
"Betcha I'll beat ya in at least three of the competitions, betcha you're scared to compete 'cause you know I'll win. I dare you to stay," Pietro spat.  
  
"Ooooh, sounds like a challenge," Flash quipped. "Here's the deal though, I get to pick one of the competitions myself. My rules, got it?"  
  
"Deal," Pietro held out his hand and Flash gave it a quick shake. "So, when do we start," he asked.  
  
"Right....now," Pietro announced. 


	3. I can't eat your dust

Disclaimer: "Is this belt tacky or belt-tacular?"

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Fred laughed, "I get to go first, right, Pietro?"

"You got it, Blob."

"Okay," Fred began, leading them into his domain, the kitchen, "I figured that before you go off running here and there it might be nice to have some carbs to burn. I know Pietro's always hungry," He put his hand on one side of his mouth and with the free side whispered into the Flash's ear, "Confidentially, he eats almost as much as I do although you'd never know it by the looks of him." He cleared his throat, once again addressing the two of them, "So, without further adieu, I give you the first challenge." He rummaged in the cupboard a short while before producing a couple loaves of bread, cans of peanut butter, jars of jelly, and the accompanying knives and spoons. "It's a two-parter. First, you have to make twenty pbj sandwiches. First done will receive 10 points, extra points will be awarded for appearance. Part two, you gotta eat 'em. Glasses of milk or water will be included. Ten points for the winner and an extra 20 if you're faster than me."

"Wait a second," Pietro chirped, "You're competing too?"

"You bet I am. I love PB&J."

"Hope you got a stopwatch," Flash warned.

"Don't worry about it," Fred told him, "Toad?"

The human frog leapt into the room. "Yeah?"

"You got those stop watches?"

"Right here, they're working....perfectly," he laughed nervously. "Why won't this thing work?"

"Never mind," Fred told him, "first one to say "done". On your mark," they grabbed the backs of bread, "Get set," hands were poised on the twist ties, "Go!"

There was a flurry of hands as well as condiments that flew through the air. "Done," the speedsters announced. Fred looked hopelessly at the other brotherhood members. "Did you catch which one said 'done' first? I didn't quite hear clearly defined voices."

"I so said it first," Pietro quipped.

"Don't get so high and mighty. My ears clearly heard you say it 1/8 of a second after myself."

"Lance," Freddy questioned.

"Just say they tied. The second half will determine the faster of the two, if not just who has the bigger stomach," Lance replied, eying up the two towers of sandwiches.

"Okay," Fred agreed, retrieving his own stack from the fridge. "Now, remember what I said before," he took a seat, making himself comfortable. "On your mark..."

"Hey, what about my extra points?" Pietro indicated his stack of dripping, misshapen sandwiches.

"Um, those sandwiches are the worst I've ever seen."

"What?! This stack is a work of art."

"Sure is," Fred nodded, "Looks nothing at all like a stack of sandwiches." Pietro's face fell as he began to mutter to himself.

"Mine look better...right?" Freddy glanced at the Flash's own stack of mangled bread.

"Uh...that's a negative. You both need lessons."

"You heard the man," Pietro quipped, "Eat my dust."

"Only if I have enough room in my stomach," Flash responded, fully realizing how difficult the task might be.

"On your mark," Lance prompted, "Get set, go..." There was once again a flurry of hands from the speedsters as Freddy methodically devoured the obstacle. The flurry quickly subsided leaving both with sandwiches still left on their plates- three on the Flash's and four on Pietro's.

"It isn't fair," Pietro stated, "I don't have any more room left in my stomach."

"I hate Peanut Butter and Jelly," the Flash groaned, "Nasty bit of sandwich that sticks to the roof of your mouth. I need some water."

"Betcha I can get it faster," Pietro challenged.

"You're on," the Flash grinned. "On the count of three...THREE!" Both slowly tilted back in their chairs, which wobbled uneasily on only two legs before tipping back hitting the counter. They both blindly groped for the water spicket and glasses.

"Need some help, guys?" Fred placed his empty plate in the sink before handing them each a glass. "There ya go."

Pietro stared disinterested into the swirling liquid. "I'm gonna be sick," he moaned, lurching to his feet and stumbling on his way. The Flash continued to stare before taking a sip.

"Think you're gonna finish?"

The Flash only stared at the boy who had beat both himself and the young upstart. 'How did he do it," the Flash wondered. "You know," Fred continued, "it's gonna take Pietro at least ten minutes to get back here since it takes that long on a good day, likes to make sure everything is perfect. You could be well on your way to being done by then."

The Flash blankly stared at the still unfinished sandwiches. 'I can't eat another bite," he said flatly.

"Give up?"

"Never," he growled.

An hour later found both speedsters staring at the impossible task before them. "Hey," Pietro glared, "you ate one more sandwich than me."

"So it would appear," came the response. Pietro then dutifully raised his own top sandwich to his mouth and took a bite. "I'll let my hygiene drop to that of Toad's before you eat more than me." Flash, who had become a bit lethargic from a full belly simply shrugged.

A half hour later Pietro was putting the last bit of that same sandwich into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. "There, now we're even." They sat in silence for a bit until Fred once again came to check on them. He pointed to Pietro's now equal stack. "You gonna take that from him?"

"You bet I am," Flash responded.

"You two going to call it quits?" The speedsters slowly turned their heads to look at one another, slowly turned them back to look at Fred, and nodded. "Alright, now you're in for some fun." He poked his head out the door, "They're all yours, Todd."

"Oh, goody," Todd exclaimed. "Who won the last one?"

"They both quit, too full to finish."

An evil grin spread across Todd's face. "You were right, Fred, we are going to have fun."


	4. Cobra Con?

Disclaimer: "But, John, when the Pirates of the Caribbean breaks down, the pirates don't eat the tourists."

Yay! I'm back...kind of. College is really hectic, ya know? So here's the next chapter, which only took me...months to write. Enjoy.

* * *

"Lance," Pietro whined, "What is this stuff?" 'Stuff' referred to the two boxes worth of spare parts that were now dumped out on the table.

"What does it look like? It's your next task," Lance replied.

"What are we supposed to do? Separate them into piles of junk and more junk?"

"You watch your mouth flash boy," Lance snapped. You two happen to be looking at the remains of genuine G.I. Joe Walkie Talkies."

"Remains?" Pietro balked, "Are all of the parts even here? Why'd you take them apart in the first place?"

"I didn't," Lance sniffed, "the kid down the block did. He wanted to see how they worked, no better way to learn then to take them apart, right? I...um...kind of promised him I'd put them back together for him if he couldn't figure it out himself."

"So you do it then." Pietro pushed the pile of odds and ends Lance's way.

"I will if you two clowns can't get it right."

"I don't know anything about mechanics," Flash murmured.

"Neither do I, Lance," Pietro added. "What does this do?" He held up a tool from the pegboard.

"That, Pietro, would be a socket wrench. You shouldn't even have to worry about having to use it."

"Oh."

"And you two won't be without instructions." Lance looked as though he were a deity bestowing fire upon cavemen as he placed multiple books upon the workbench. "Here's what I could did up about walkie talkies. There are some nice diagrams on the marked pages. Have at it." Lance gestured for them to begin before walking out of their sight.

"You," the Flash spat, "this is all your fault!"

"My fault?" Pietro feigned innocence, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"This whole challenge thing was your idea," Flash growled.

"And you agreed to take part in it." Pietro stood, glancing about the room. At a loss for words Flash took a deep breath and held it for a moment before Pietro glared at him. "Oh you want to play that game, do you," the young speedster quipped. "I bet I can turn a prettier shade of purple than you!" This statement caused Flash to let the air shoot out of his mouth as he burst into laugher.

"What are you talking about?"

"You were trying to start a breath holding contest!"

"No, I was trying to collect my thoughts."

"Oh...those thoughts gonna help you put your walkie talkie together?"

"Nope," Flash sighed, "I'm afraid G.I. Joe isn't going to be checking in with Star Command any time soon."

"Wrong character," Pietro corrected. "Buzz Lightyear is affiliated with Star Command."

"So whom does G.I. Joe talk to?"

Pietro pondered for a moment... "Cobra Con?"

"Those are the bad guys. Now who looks stupid?" The Flash stuck out his tongue.

"I was never good at keeping track of toy names. Wanna do tongue twisters? I'll start...Toy boat, toy boat, toy boat."

"Huh?" Flash raised an eyebrow. "That was the worst tongue twister rendition I've ever heard."

"So, prove me a loser. Impress me."

Flash cleared his throat. "Red Leather, Yellow Leather..."

* * *

Lance returned to stony silence in the garage. If he was lucky, which he probably wasn't, they had killed each other. He found them otherwise alive, sitting across from one another. The walkie talkie pieces, although not reassembled, were now organized by shape and size into neat piles.

"What are you doing," he asked.

"We're playing the "be quiet" game," quipped Flash. Realizing what he had done he clamped his hands back over his mouth.

"I win! Hahahahaha!" Pietro leapt onto the table and did a little dance.

"No, you lose," Lance told them. "You didn't accomplish the task.

"It wasn't fair," Flash whined. "We're not going to do you work for you."

"Fine, go find Wanda," Lance snapped, pointing to the house. "Little ingrates," he breathed.


	5. I want my coffee

Disclaimer: "I believe when life gives you lemons you should make lemonade, then find someone whom life has given vodka and have a party." Oh yeah, and I don't own X-men evo.

Author's Note: Yes, I've finally updated. I think I should state here that I totally used the idiot's coffee wheel for Wanda's beverage choice because I know nothing about coffee.

* * *

Wanda lay sprawled across two lawn chairs, her red tank top and black pants ensemble completed by dark sunglasses. "Wanda," Pietro asked, "what are you doing?"

"Tanning, what does it look like?"

The Flash goggled at her, "You do know you're supposed to wear a bathing suit, right?"

"With all you pervs running around the house? No thank you. You'll never see me in a bathing suit- one piece or two- especially with Toad running around." She scanned the surrounding area.

"So," Pietro crossed his arms, "what do you want?"

"Coffee."

"In the afternoon," Flash questioned.

"Lord Almighty, are you going to tell me what I should be doing again, Flashbulb? What is it? Insult Wanda day? Do you want me to help you settle this or not?"

"Um..."

"Don't answer that. I want a tall no whip Cafe Mocha."

"Tall" repeated the Flash, a bit confused.

"Tall, you know, a small one."

"Oh, okay, small no whip Cafe Mocha, got it," he prepared to dash.

"Wait!" Wanda handed him a walkie-talkie.

"This isn't the same one we were supposed to fix, is it?"

No," Wanda patted the Flash on his head, " No, it's not. I ganked these off of two 9-year-olds. They'll get them back when they regain consciousness." She motioned towards the flowerbed where two boys lay prone. "They wouldn't shut up," she explained, " kept talking to each other through these things so I shut them up."

"What's this for," Flash asked.

"In case I change my mind," Wanda explained.

"Well, what am I supposed to do," Pietro pouted.

" You're going with him. Whoever gets me my coffee first wins. Remember to hold hands and look both ways when crossing the street." She waved a dismissal. The two runners shrugged before heading off.

* * *

They barely set foot in the parking lot when the walkie-talkie crackled, "Flash is right, it is, after all, the afternoon. Better switch that Cafe Mocha to decaf and iced.

"Will do," Pietro replied before rushing inside. The two lines were enormous. "Don't these people have anything better to do than drink coffee all day," he exclaimed.

"You call this better?" Flash shook his head in dismay, " you take that line, I'll take this one." After deciding that the lines were for all intensive purposes created equal Pietro agreed. Foreign tongues flowed from people's mouths as they ordered ventes, extra whip caramel Macchiatos and Cafe Lattes.

"Guys?" The walkie-talkie crackled, "you still in line?"

"Yes," Flash replied.

"Okay, because I changed my mind. I want a tall iced decaf extra whip skim caramel mocha."

"Worried you're gonna get fat if it's not skim?" A disgruntled woman in front of the Flash gave him a look.

"I'm PMSing, okay!" Wanda whined. " I'm bloating as it is, everything makes me look and feel fat! I just want my coffee!"

"Flash brought his hands up to his ears. "Too much information," he cried.

"Shut up, Flash," Pietro scolded, "that's my sister you're talking to." He grabbed the walkie-talkie. "Wanda, we didn't need to hear that. Now all these people are staring at us."

"I don't care," she snapped. "...get me a scone too."

"Did you hear that, Flash?"

"Huh? What?"

"Will do, Wanda."

Fate was unkind as the two reached the registers at the same time. "Okay," Pietro spouted off his order, " I want a tall iced decaf extra whip skim caramel mocha..." he lowered his voice, " and a scone."

"Okay sir, that's $9.57." Pietro was about to ask her how she slept at night with prices that high when Flash stopped his quarrel with his own cashier over weather he wanted a small or a tall. " Why is your order so expensive," Flash asked, a bit suspicious.

"I, uh, bought a scone for myself."

"Oh, okay," he turned back to the cashier, "a _small_..."

"Sir, a small is a tall, that's what I've been trying to tell you."

"Oh, okay, that's it then."

"Could they make coffee any slower," Pietro complained as he dashed out the door, Flash right on his heels.

* * *

When they returned Wanda was arguing with the once unconscious children. "You'll get your walkie-talkie in a minute. Where's my coffee?" she yelled.

Right here!" Flash offered the beverage.

"Where's the scone?'

"The what?"

"The scone. I distinctly remember ordering a scone."

"Here, Wanda, Pietro offered his own identical beverage and a small bag with a smile.

"Oh, Pietro, you finally did something right..." her lower lip quivered. "I'm so happy I could cry."

"Well, do it after we're gone, okay?" Pietro grabbed his counterpart, "Come on, Flash."


	6. He can't win!

Disclaimer: Yup, don't own a thing, not even my work shirts.

A/N: This is the final chapter. Yay! I think it came together rather well, but you can tell me if you think differently. Enjoy!

* * *

Flash looked at Pietro with utter horror, "You cheated."

"Hello! Brotherhood member? Besides, you weren't paying attention to what was going on so it's really your own fault."

"I," Flash broke off for a moment, "Can't we do anything NORMAL?"

"Like what," Pietro prompted.

"Like actually running a race?"

"Oh, you know that's overrated."

"Is it?" Flash responded with his hands on his hips, "We came together to see who's the faster of the two- well, actually I came because I thought you were a make-a-wish kid- but anyways, I think a race is in order."

"Ah, but therein lies the problem. Do you actually trust my friends to judge fairly?"

"Um, well..."

"Of course you don't, which means we'll need to seek outside help," Pietro continued. "Fortunately, I know exactly where to go and who to ask."

"And this person will say yes?"

"Of course she will," Pietro smiled.

* * *

"No way."

"Come on, Rogue, it's the Flash!" Pietro pointed to his crimson clad counterpart.

"You may be enamored of a Superhero celebrity but I'm not. Heck, for the amount of people I've saved they should give me a plaque and make me an official superhero."

"Now, don't be jealous, Rogue."

"Jealous? As if. Besides, I've got more important things to do than watch you two make fools of yourselves. Go get Bobby to referee, or Jamie. Wait, forget Jamie, he's far too impressionable, despite the fact that he would have people to confer with to determine the win."

"I'm afraid we'll have to do just that if you don't help us out here."

The Flash looked uneasy, "We're resorting to blackmail?"

"Yes, we are," Pietro responded.

"Pietro, if you think that kid is enough to guilt trip me into doing this for you you're crazy."

"That's why I brought these."

Flash fingered the photos. "Where did you get those? I didn't see you get anything from the house."

"That's because you're slow."

Rogue looked them over. "What are those supposed to be?"

"Let's just say if your secret love saw these he might think differently of you."

"What!" Rogue quickly bent over to glance at the photos. I can't believe you managed to have a camera when I absorbed Sabertooth! I look hideous! Burn them! Burn them now, I can't let people see me like that ever again."

" So you'll help?"

"If it means getting these...and the negatives, then yes."

"Alright! Hi ho Silver away!"

* * *

"You're sure you want me to do this," Rogue questioned, bare hands poised next to each racer's face.

"Positive," Pietro replied. How else are you going to tell who reached the finish line first? And you have to absorb both of us because otherwise it wouldn't be fair."

Rogue debated in her mind for a moment. Was it really so bad if Remy did see her covered in fur? Yes...yes it would be. "Okay, boys, on the count of three...three!" Suddenly, thoughts of girls and speedy get-aways were spinning in her head. "Lord, I hate absorbing boys!" Rogue screeched. "Especially you," she pointed at Pietro before turning on Flash. "And you, you're just as bad."

"To the edge of town and back," Flash explained.

"I heard you the first time," Pietro replied.

"On your mark," Rogue prompted, feeling a bit antsy after absorbing the two of them. "Get set, Go!"

The two raced off and were back in what to the common man or mutant would seem like a mere couple seconds. For Rogue, who was jumped up on speedster, it seemed a lot longer. " Well?" Pietro looked at her for confirmation of his win. Rogue shook her head, " Flash came back a thousandth of a second sooner."

"You mean I win?" Flash's face lit up as he began a happy dance.

"He can't win, he can't! Because I know I'm ten times faster than him."

"Face it, Pietro," Rogue smirked, "You're just not that fast."

"But I am! I'm so fast I can run straight through walls!"

"What are you talking about," Flash asked, confused out of his reverie.

"I'm so fast my molecules can separate and I can therefore run through walls without disturbing anything."

"Pietro, I think you should seek some help," said Rogue.

"Ditto," Flash nodded.

"You only think it's impossible because you can't do it," Pietro continued, a crazy gleam taking it's place in his eyes. "Here, I'll prove it to you. I am faster than the Flash because I can run through walls!" With that Pietro did a quick bunny hop before racing towards the wall...and disappearing!

"Woah," Flash stood mesmerized.

"So he's not as crazy as he looks," Rogue conceded. "Hey, Pietro," she called. "You alright?"

In the blink of an eye Pietro reappeared on the outside of the Brotherhood Boarding House, having displaced his molecules a second time to come back the way he had gone. "Never better, especially now that I'm officially the fastest man alive," Pietro grinned. "Eat my dust."

"Hope none of your brain molecules got displaced," Rogue muttered.

"I heard that," Pietro called. "Now," he turned to his opponent, "I wish you to kiss the ground I walk on because I am indeed the fastest man alive."

"You wish," Flash spat. "You may be faster than me but don't think the time won't come when you'll be booted off your throne. And no, I will not kiss the ground you walk on, I'm out of here." He sped away but Pietro merely shrugged. "Bragging rights is bragging rights," he conceded. "TOAD! Come bow down to the fastest man alive!" Pietro called.

Rogue sighed and sped off. She didn't really want to see what Pietro would do now that he felt like top dog once again. After she thought about it she realized she really didn't care. As long as Pietro was happy, his mind didn't wander to the blackmail in his back pocket, and Rogue was safe, at least until Pietro's next hair-brained idea.


End file.
